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“Contessa.” Van said her name as if he were rolling it around on his tongue and tasting the flavor of it. He took her hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing the top of it while holding her gaze. “Pleasure to meet you.”
She swallowed hard as a hot shiver chased up her arm and down her spine. Man, he was good. Good enough that she should probably be running the other way. Men that smooth and good-looking were dangerous. But hell if she could bring herself to move. Or speak.
“Stay put, Contessa. I’ll be back in a moment.”
He released her hand, leaving her tongue-tied, and headed toward the main dining room. Tessa turned back to the bar to gather herself. She wrapped her palms around her glass to steady her shaking hands. The bartender gave her a quick glance and a barely concealed smirk. Jesus, she must look like some swooning twit. But this wasn’t even close to a fair fight. It’d been so long since she’d had a man lay his charm on her, and certainly never one with as much presence as Van.
Looking back, she realized Doug had never had to truly charm or court her. He’d won her with over-the-top flattery, pretty words, and expensive gifts. Things her inexperience had mistaken for love. He hadn’t had to work any harder than that. He’d been handsome and popular. A jock. The perfect match to her cheerleader. And he’d made her promises she was starved for—promises of security, permanence, and safety. A home she would never have to leave.
What a fucking joke it had all been. He’d wanted a wife for window-dressing. Maybe he’d loved her at some point, or thought he had, but obviously anything that had been there had quickly faded, especially after they’d tried to have kids and failed. She’d been stupid to believe marriage would give her some sort of instafamily, some place in the world. Marriage was a sham sold by fairy tales and movies. Of all her married friends, how many had made it past that ten-year mark? Probably not even half. And the ones who were still together, how many were fooling around behind their spouse’s back like Doug was?
She finished her drink and ordered a second.
No, this was better. She had her eyes wide open now. No starry-eyed love or misplaced trust mucking up the waters. Tonight she’d probably sleep with Van. Tomorrow, he wouldn’t call her. And she wouldn’t be waiting for him to do so. No expectations or obligations. No need for lies and pretenses.
In fact, the faux name was going to be her first and last fib of the night. If they were going to have a date, she was going to be one-hundred-percent honest and completely herself. Not the version she thought he wanted to see. She was done with all those bullshit games she’d played for so long. If that screwed things up, then so be it. He didn’t deserve to see her naked if that was the case.
A warm hand pressed against her lower back, startling her off her internal soapbox.
“I’m ready for you now.”
She wet her lips and set her drink down. The way he’d said it—I’m ready for you instead of Are you ready?—had made something flutter inside her. Nerves. Anticipation. She wasn’t sure, but the feeling was far from unpleasant. She turned to face him, letting him help her off the stool. “Where to?”
He offered her his crooked arm. “Follow me.”
They walked through the dining room, turning a few heads. She didn’t doubt the glances were for Van and not her. Something about the man called for attention. Not just his height and good looks, but some regal air that enveloped him. She scanned the room as they walked, looking for empty tables, but the place was packed. When they reached the back of the restaurant, Van led her away from the dining room and toward a door down a small hallway.
“Where are we going?”
“Up,” he said, pulling the door open for her and guiding her forward.
A set of stairs greeted her along with a chain that had a Closed sign hanging from it. She peeked back over her shoulder. “I don’t think we’re supposed to go up here.”
He leaned past her and unhooked the chain. “I promise they won’t kick us out.”
So he worked here apparently. Maybe he was the general manager or one of the owners. That last one was a distinct possibility. The man definitely strolled around like he owned the place. But she had a feeling he walked around every place like that. Without voicing her questions, she headed up the stairs. When she reached the door at the top, Van stepped past her and pushed the door open.
She sucked in a breath at the unexpected gust of cool air and the view on the other side. A rooftop deck spread out before them, complete with quaint little tables and a vine-covered pergola laced with twinkle lights overhead. On the far end, there was a long, rustic table with candles and a full outdoor stove and grill.
“Wow, this is beautiful.”
“Yeah, it’s my favorite spot in the restaurant. But we don’t use it during the winter months except for the occasional party.”
“Or for a random woman you pilfer from an online dating event.”
He grinned. “Exactly. But I think it’s warm enough tonight to not be a problem.”
“So we’re going to make some poor waiter traipse up here to serve us food?”
“Nah,” Van said, taking her hand and leading her forward. “You came here to learn how to cook. So we won’t need any staff.”
As they got closer to the long table, she saw there were little bowls of ingredients on the far end like they’d had at the event. She glanced over at him. “You’re going to teach me to cook?”
He cocked his head, looking playfully offended. “What? You don’t think I can cook?”
She let her perusal of him travel from the top of his head down the front of his black dress shirt and gray trousers to the tips of his clearly expensive shoes. “You don’t look like you spend a lot of time in a kitchen.”
“And you don’t look like a woman who’d spend her evening crashing a date meet-up. But looks can be deceiving, right?” He let go of her hand with a smirk, unbuttoned his cuffs, and rolled his sleeves up his forearms.
For some reason, the simple movement fascinated her, like she was watching his urbane shell being peeled back and revealing the real man beneath. She pulled her attention away from those big, capable hands. “So what kind of woman do I look like then?”
He gave her a similar head-to-toe assessment then met her gaze. “One who doesn’t usually break the rules or take a risk.”
She scoffed. “Oh, really?”
His smile was knowing as he grabbed a knife and cutting board from the counter then placed a wedge of white cheese on it. “Am I wrong?”
“I’m up here with you, aren’t I?” she said, challenging him.
He moved the knife as if marking a point in her favor on an invisible scoreboard. “Touché.”
Following his lead, she grabbed a loaf of crusty bread and another knife to start slicing it. “So you admit you’re a risk?”
Before she could cut into the bread, he laid his hand on hers, stilling her movements. “Don’t use that knife. You need a serrated one for that kind of bread.”
She glanced down at his hand on hers, the warmth of his touch a little too welcome. “Oh, right.”
He replaced the knife with one that had a jagged edge. “And I’m no more of a risk than going to the dating event and sitting with a stranger.”
“So this is a date?”
He took one of the slices of bread, placed a piece of cheese atop it, and then held it in front of her lips. She opened her mouth and let him feed her a bite of bread and cheese. He was so close now, she could see the flecks of green mixing with the blue in his eyes. Somehow he managed to both intimidate and cajole in one simple look. “It’s whatever you want it to be, Contessa.”
The salty cheese hit her taste buds, and she had to remind herself to chew, to breathe.
“Good?” he asked.
She nodded, though the movement felt stiff. “Manchego. One of my favorites.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “A woman who knows her gourmet cheeses but doesn’t know how to use a bread knife? Interesting.”
She was tempted to refute that claim, tell him it was a lucky guess, but she stopped herself. No more lying.
“I don’t want this to be a date,” she blurted out.
His forehead creased. “What?”
“I don’t want this to be a date,” she repeated. “Dates suck. It’s two people telling each other what they think the other person wants to hear and hoping they get it right. It’s a farce.”
He leaned back against the table as if giving her space to voice her opinion. “Okay, so what would you like this to be?”
“Let’s make this an un-date. No fronts, no lies, and no ridiculous promises to call the next day. You didn’t invite me up here because you think I could be some perfect match for your future. And I didn’t come up here for that either.”
He’d been watching her with equal parts amusement and intrigue, but now a flicker of something else edged in, something that made her insides flip over. “So what did you come up here for, Contessa?”
Well, here it was, her opportunity to put her money where her mouth was and be blatantly honest. He was probably going to run, but so be it if he did. “A year ago, I walked in on my husband cheating with my best friend. Instead of even pretending to be sorry, he proceeded to give me a long list of my faults and told me to get used to his affairs.”
Sharp disapproval flashed over Van’s features.
But she didn’t let his reaction stop her. She needed to lay it all out there. “I left him, my life blew up, and now I’m putting the pieces back in place. I’m not looking to date anyone. I’m not looking for love or even a boyfriend. I came up here tonight because I haven’t felt desire in a long time, and you made me feel that in the hallway.”
“Contessa—”
She took a deep breath. “I came up here to use you, Van. To be used. I need a night off from … all of it.”
The shift in his expression was enough to have any remaining words shriveling in her throat. All traces of his sympathy over her story had vanished and in its place, unadulterated lust took root. “Text your friend and tell her you’ve found a ride. I’ll have your keys sent down to her.”
The command in his voice rippled through her. “But I—”
He pushed off the table and stood in front of her, cupping her chin. “You told me your reasons, now do you want to hear mine? I brought you up here because from the moment you walked into the restaurant tonight, I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. I would’ve sat through a cooking class about dishes I created just to be next to you. Let me give you your night off.”
She was jittery in his grasp, her body literally vibrating with the need for him to touch her more. “But the cooking class still has two hours left. We could—”
He pressed a finger against his lips. “I promise I’ll need more than two hours. I haven’t even given you your first lesson yet.”
Her heart was thumping and blood was roaring through her veins, heating all the best spots. She couldn’t do this, right? She didn’t even know this guy. Considering a quickie with him had been risky enough. But sending her ride home and spending the whole night with him was a whole different story. “I can’t go home with you.”
He leaned down and brushed his lips along her jaw, his blond hair falling forward and tickling her cheek. “We don’t have to go anywhere but here.”
Even the simple touch had her ready to groan aloud, her body starved for this kind of night. This kind of man. How long had it been since she’d felt so desired, so utterly seduced? Maybe never. Somehow, Van made it all feel so easy, so natural. Like saying no would be a preposterous notion. Even though it was the most logical answer.
But that logic angel sitting on her shoulder didn’t seem to have much fight to her tonight. No, instead there was another altogether deviant voice whispering in her ear. Stop denying yourself. You need this. You’ve earned an indulgence. A woman should not live by vibrator alone.
She took a long, shuddering breath, letting the temptation take her under. “I’ll text her.”
“Good girl,” Van said, the words she’d normally find patronizing like a hot caress against her. “I’ll make sure it’s worth the trouble.”
After Tessa had sent the text and gotten one back from Sam, complete with about twelve exclamation points following her OMG, Van left for a few minutes to bring her keys down. And he must have brought them in person because Sam sent another text shortly afterward.
HOLY shit, girl. U’ve hit the hookup lottery. Enjoy the condoms!
Tessa was still laughing when Van came through the doorway. He smiled. “What’s so funny?”
“My friend approves of you.”
He gave her a roguish grin. “I’m charming that way.”
“And she thinks you’re hot,” she said matter-of-factly. “That goes a long way with Sam.”
He laughed, not bothering to deflect the assessment of his hotness, and crossed his arms. “And what do you think?”
She lifted her chin, jaunty. “I think I don’t like cocky guys.”
He stepped in front of her chair and braced his hands on the table behind her, caging her in. His expression held playful challenge when he leaned in her space. “Liar.”
She raised her eyebrows. “How would you know?”
“Because you didn’t wait a whole year only to waste a night with some guy who’s unsure of himself.” He put his lips next to her ear, his voice turning dark and ripe with promise. “I may be cocky, but I’m not going to fumble around. I’m not going to lie back and wait for you to take the lead. I’m going to feed you the best meal of your life. Bite by bite. Then I’m going to fuck you. And I promise, when you wake up tomorrow, you won’t remember the food.”
THREE
Sweet baby Jesus. Tessa had no idea what to say to Van’s illicit promise, so she didn’t even attempt to respond. But she could feel heat traveling through her like an electric current, turning on switches she didn’t even know existed. She closed her eyes and pulled in a deep breath, but that only made it worse because she got a lungful of his spicy scent.
Van pushed off the table he’d braced his hands on and straightened. “Still want to have dinner with me?”
She lifted her gaze to him. He’d made his intentions clear, and he was giving her an out. This was her chance to go back to the safety of her apartment where there would be no handsome strangers making her feel vulnerable and off-balance, where there would be no risk of her embarrassing herself, and no dreaded walk of shame to face in the morning. But as she stared back at him, she knew she’d suffer one thing if she walked away now. Regret.
Because no man had ever caused such a visceral response in her or inspired such primal need. And she knew instinctively that he wasn’t writing checks he couldn’t sign. He was promising her the sex of her life, and she had no doubt he could provide it. And maybe it was base and wanton to simply want this man to take her over and use her for their mutual pleasure, but dammit, she couldn’t think of anything she needed more right now than to let go like that.
“I’m very hungry,” she said finally.
His eyes lit with satisfaction. “Well, far be it from me to deny you a meal.” He extended his hand. “Come on, I still owe you a little Cooking 101 lesson.”
She took his hand and let him lead her to the stove, feeling as if she’d crossed some portal she couldn’t walk back through, like if she turned around now, there’d only be mirrored glass to tap. They both knew what tonight was about now. No pretenses. But apparently, he was still going to hold to his promise of teaching her how to cook. He grabbed a bottle of olive oil and a bowl of what looked to be nuts and set them on the tiled counter. He picked up one of the nuts and lifted it to her lips. Dutifully, she opened her mouth and let him slide it in. He took his time pulling his fingers back, letting them casually brush her lips.
“These are blanched almonds,” he explained, his tone soft in the quiet night. “They won’t have much flavor yet since we haven’t toasted or salted them. But I want you to get an idea of what they taste like before. It’s an important step. Taste your ingredients and your cooking throughout the process so you can adjust seasonings as you go.”
She crunched the mostly tasteless almond and swallowed, trying to concentrate on the lesson and not the way his deep voice was seeping inside her and dialing up her internal thermostat. Focus. “Why are they blanched?”
“It provides a better surface for the seasonings and they look nicer in a bowl. We serve these on every table with the manchego.” He turned on the burner beneath a small skillet on the stove then handed her the bottle of olive oil. “We’ll need about three tablespoons of oil.”
She scanned the utensils on the counter. “I need a measuring spoon.”
He smiled. “Don’t have any of those up here, but it doesn’t have to be perfect. Cooking is a lot about feel and developing your instincts. Trusting yourself. A tablespoon is roughly one swirl around the pan. Do three of those.”
Though she was a little nervous she’d somehow manage to screw up the simplest of recipes, she followed his instructions and poured the oil into the pan. “Is that enough?”
“Yep, now wait for the oil to shimmer a little and then you can dump the almonds in. Extra virgin olive oil has a low smoke point. It can burn or catch fire quicker than other oils, so don’t use it on too high of a heat and put your ingredients in before it starts smoking.”
She felt like she was the one with the low smoke point. A few more touches and heated glances from him and she was sure she’d catch flame, too.
When the oil started to glisten and slide easily around the pan, he gave her a little nod, and she poured the almonds in. He stepped behind her, put a hand to her waist, and reached around to give the nuts a quick stir with a wooden spoon to coat them. The smell of fruity olive oil filled her nose, but all she could think about was Van pressed against her back. He was so much bigger than she was—not in the bulky way like Doug had been—but tall and lean and honed. It made her feel petite and feminine in his hold.
She swallowed past the sudden dryness in her throat. “Now what?”
“Now we wait for them to get fragrant and golden.” He set the spoon down and turned her around in his arms, shifting the two of them away from the hot stove. “And we taste.”
He picked up the olive oil again and drizzled some on his fingers. She watched in fascination as some dripped to the ground like green-gold raindrops.
